One Mom Too Many

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Finally she wandered into her bedroom where a dresser drawer hung open, its contents spilling out from her rush to find clean underwear that morning. A nylon stocking dangled nearly to the floor.

  She pounced on the drawer as she remembered getting a run in a pair of Dark Seduction panty hose just yesterday. They had little spangles all over them, but so what? The stew wouldn’t know the difference if the spices were encased in spangles or not. Moments later she’d amputated the foot from the panty hose. She washed and rinsed the bit of nylon, dumped the spices in the toe, knotted the ankle, and plopped the whole thing into the stew.

  “Cook fast,” she instructed the stew as she slid it into the oven and glanced at the clock. She twisted the oven dial up a few extra notches, figuring a higher temperature would make the stew cook faster.

  She had nine minutes to make herself presentable. As she hurried toward her bedroom, the intercom buzzed. She walked to the intercom with a feeling of inevitability and pushed the button. “Yes?”

  “Daniel O’Malley’s here to see you,” said Jimmy, who monitored the desk in the lobby most evenings. “Shall I send him up?”

  Rose glanced down at her flour-covered clothes, then touched a flour-covered hand to her tangle of hair caught up in a clip. She’d need at least fifteen minutes to transform herself. Daniel was a good eight minutes early, but if she made him wait downstairs, he’d think he had a vain woman on his hands. Considering her career choice, she already had to fight that image with most people, and she didn’t want to fight it with Daniel. For all she knew, he’d arrived early as a sort of test.

  “Sure, send him up,” she said.

  Then she raced for a pad of paper, scribbled a note that invited him to come in, and unlocked the door to tape it on the outside. The wine. She should have it uncorked and a goblet sitting beside the bottle on the coffee table so he could help himself while she showered and changed. That would be a classy gesture and show she had his comfort in mind even though he’d have to wait.

  Dashing into the kitchen, she wrenched open the drawer where she usually kept the corkscrew — the drawer where she also kept the scissors, the coupons for microwave dinners, the corks she saved from memorable wine tastings with friends, the dried remnants of a rose her mother had given her on her last birthday, toothpicks, and matches from every restaurant she’d ever been to in New York.

  The corkscrew refused to show itself as she pawed through the jumbled contents of the drawer. Finally she glanced on the counter and saw the corkscrew lying where she’d left it for convenience, right next to the wine bottle. “Aha! Now I’ve got you, my pretty!”

  She picked up the knife she’d used to cut both the celery and her finger, pared away the seal and twisted the corkscrew in. Then she tugged, but the cork wouldn’t budge.

  “Open up, you son of a cheap jug wine!” She stuck the bottle between her legs for leverage and started to yank the cork out.

  “You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked.”

  Rose shrieked in alarm. Pulling out the cork at the same time as she yelled was pure reflex. Without Daniel diving to catch it, the bottle would have hit the floor. As it was, it merely disgorged a couple of ounces on his brown leather boots as the weight of the bottle crushed the bouquet of violets he held in one hand.

  Rose grabbed a dishcloth from the sink and dropped to her knees in front of him. “Don’t move!” she instructed as she dabbed at the wine staining the soft leather.

  “Hey, don’t bother. It’s okay.”

  “This is nice leather. I don’t want to ruin—” She forgot what she’d meant to say as he crouched down and set the wine bottle and mangled flowers on the floor.

  “It’s okay,” he said again, taking her by her arms and drawing her gently to her feet.

  “No, it’s not.” She imagined how she must look to him with flour all over her, including in her hair, and not a speck of makeup on. “In fact, the disasters that have happened in this kitchen recently make Twister look like a comedy.”

  A smile flitted across his face, but his brown eyes were grave. “If you leave your door unlocked again, things could get a whole lot worse.”

  “I thought I’d be in the shower when you arrived.” His firm grip on her arms was interfering with clear thinking. Old Spice. She’d forgotten he used it. No designer cologne for this guy. “I’m...running a little late.”

  “So you left a note on the door inviting me and any wacko who happened along to walk right in and make himself at home? Not good, Rose.”

  She’d about come to the end of her tether. Nothing was turning out the way she’d planned, and now she was getting a lecture from the man she’d hoped to seduce. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back and lifted her chin in defiance. “Gonna arrest me for gross negligence, officer?”

  “I—hey, don’t cry. Aw, hell.” He pulled her into his arms, flour and all.

  “Daniel, don’t! I’m covered with —”

  “So I noticed.” His mouth came down on hers.

  With the first pressure of his lips, her luck began to change. Whoever had coined the phrase “kiss it and make it better” must have had Daniel O’Malley in mind for the job. All her anxiety over the meal and her appearance dissolved before the tender onslaught of his mouth on hers. Tension slipped from her body until she felt as liquid as the wine in the bottle she’d been trying to open.

  He ended the kiss slowly, with exquisite timing. She lifted suddenly heavy eyelids to gaze up at him.

  “I’m sorry I barked at you,” he murmured.

  The belligerence had been kissed right out of her. “I suppose you had a point about the unlocked door.”

  “I did, but I could also see how much trouble you were taking to cook me a meal.” He rubbed the flat of his hand up and down her spine in a caress that soothed, yet stimulated at the same time. “I could have mentioned that before delivering my standard cop safety lecture.”

  She let out a long sigh. “I’m not much of a cook, Daniel. My mother’s a great cook. I should have learned more from her, but I just haven’t taken the time.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up. “You sound as if you’re in a confessional relating a string of murders. It’s not a sin, you know.”

  “The way I was raised, it is. And the way you were raised, I’d imagine. You said you were an old-fashioned guy.”

  “If you mean that my mother’s a traditional housewife, you’d be right. If you mean that I expect that role of all women, that I’m that kind of old-fashioned guy, you’d be wrong. I may be an Irish cop, but that’s where the stereotype ends.”

  “But you insisted on paying for dinner.”

  He grinned. “Well, now, that’s another whole issue. I had to establish my status.”

  “Status?”

  “I don’t want to be your boy toy.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! I would never —”

  “Maybe not.” He stopped rubbing her back and gazed at her intently. “But let’s not kid ourselves that you’re not one up on me in the fame-and-fortune department. I want it clearly understood from the beginning that I pay my own way. Don’t invite me to St. Thomas for the weekend. I can’t afford it.”

  She chuckled and leaned back in his arms. “You can relax on that score. I have no intention of inviting you to St. Thomas for the weekend.”

  “Oh.”

  He looked so deflated she took pity on him. “I don’t go to St. Thomas for the weekend.”

  “Okay, so I got the destination wrong. I’m not sure what tropical vacation spots are trendy these days.”

  “I don’t take tropical vacations. The only way I get to those places is if my job sends me there.” She stepped out of his arms and took his hand. “Come on. I’ll show you what I spend my free time and money on.”

  “If it’s illegal, I don’t want to know about it.”

  She laughed as she led him toward her office. “You have a very jaded view of what people do with big salaries, bucko.” />
  “I’m a New York City cop.”

  “Well, you’ll find nothing to confiscate here.” At her office door she became nervous about watching him study the work spread on her drafting table. “Give me your jacket and I’ll hang it up while you’re searching the place.”

  As he shrugged out of his leather jacket and handed it to her, she took a moment to admire the way his knit Henley defined the muscled breadth of his chest. Her fingers itched to undo the buttons and explore what lay beneath. Talk about chemistry. Every move he made brought a flush of anticipation to her skin.

  She waved her hand toward her office. “Go ahead. I’ll be right back.” The decision to show him her cartooning work had been made impulsively, but as she hung his jacket in the hall closet she decided it was the right decision. The more he understood about her, the more likely he’d be to grant her ultimate request. She was encouraged by his statement that he wasn’t a stereotypical Irish male who expected women to conform to a certain standard.

  After hanging up the jacket, she returned to her office and paused in the doorway. Daniel stood in front of the drafting table, his back to her, his hands braced on his hips as he studied her cartoons. He chuckled, then laughed outright. She smiled with pleasure. Feeling far more confident than she had five minutes ago, she walked up beside him.

  He glanced at her with a look of admiration. “These are great, Rose. Better than the ones in the Times.”

  “So far nobody at the Times agrees with you, but I’ve sold the strip to a couple of small papers upstate.”

  “No kidding? Congratulations.” He returned his attention to the drafting table. “I don’t have to ask you where you get your ideas. You’ve been listening in on a lot of Irish conversations.”

  “Then you think I have the tone right?”

  “It’s uncanny. St. Paddy sounds just like my dad, and the little leprechaun’s comebacks are exactly what my mother used to say to him. If I didn’t know better I’d think you’d been eavesdropping all these years.”

  “Well, my grandmother, who spent one summer with us, talked that way, and I was in Ireland last year while we photographed the shots for my calendar.”

  He looked at her. “Calendar? I don’t remember seeing one.”

  “You keep up with calendars?”

  “In the past week I’ve done a study of magazines and calendars. My version of your routine with the binoculars.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “I see. Well, this one’s in production for next year. I’m hoping the royalties on it will cushion the loss of income when I retire from modeling in the next year or so.”

  “Now I’m really intimidated. You’ve saved enough money to retire already?”

  “Not retire the way you’re thinking. But I can last a few years while I work on getting the strip going.”

  “Whew.” He gazed at her and shook his head. “And here I thought you were a free spirit whose top priority was —” he paused “— a relationship.”

  “That isn’t what you were about to say.”

  “What I was about to say was uncalled for.”

  She moved closer to him. “Maybe it was correct.”

  “I doubt it. A woman with your sort of self-direction is a hell of a lot deeper than I was going to give you credit for.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t have...needs.”

  “I’m sure you do. But you’d never let them get in the way of your master plan.”

  She allowed herself to become lost in the power of his dark eyes. “Is that so bad?”

  “I can’t say it is. I’m the same way.”

  The impulse to unfasten the first button on his shirt became too strong to resist. “Then I guess we have a perfect situation,” she murmured.

  “It seems that way.” His voice had taken on a huskier tone.

  She moved to the second button and her fingers brushed against a tendril of dark chest hair. Her breathing quickened.

  “What about dinner?” he asked softly.

  She undid another button and looked up at him. “Dinner will take a while longer to cook.”

  He slid a hand along her jawline and tipped her mouth up to his. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all night.”

  MAUREEN HAD MEANT to watch from the cab as Daniel walked into the apartment-building lobby, and then take the cab back home. But once he’d disappeared from sight she couldn’t seem to leave. All her dreams could be coming true in that apartment building, and she wanted to savor the moment. Taking the cab to this spot had been terribly expensive, but justified. Sitting there with the meter running was pure extravagance, however.

  “Pull up in front of the apartment,” she instructed the driver. “I’m getting out”

  “You want me to wait for you?” the driver asked.

  “No, thank you.” She dug out the proper amount from her purse and added a tip before putting it in the money chute set into the sheet of plastic that divided the front and back seats. “I’ll call another cab when I need one.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Maureen climbed out onto the sidewalk. She’d just stand here a moment, she thought, looking up at the rows of lighted windows above her. If only she knew for certain that one of those lighted windows belonged to Rose Kingsford. But perhaps Rose didn’t have an apartment that looked out on the street.

  A cold raindrop hit her in the eye, and then another. She opened her purse and fished around until she found the accordian-folded rain bonnet she carried everywhere. She tied it securely over her hair and hoped the rain would let up.

  It started coming down harder, pelting her plastic bonnet as if the good Lord had got it into his head to drown her on the spot. New York raindrops seemed to hit a body harder than Irish rain, Maureen thought. Or at least the way she remembered Irish rain. Someday she’d love to go back and find out if she remembered right.

  Soon she was standing in a puddle. No help for it, she’d have to head into the apartment lobby.

  She scurried through the revolving door and stood blinking in the brightness of the interior. But she certainly approved of the atmosphere. A crystal chandelier sparkled above her, and what looked like very fine paintings hung on the wallpapered walls. Two wing chairs in a burgundy-and-gray print sat on either side of a small table with a lovely flower arrangement on it. Maureen wondered if she dared sit in one of the chairs for a wee bit.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” asked a nice-looking young man from behind an antique desk that had a computer on it.

  “I was...uh...meeting someone, I was.” She untied her rain bonnet. “But I think she must have been held up. I needed a place to get in out of the weather, you see. What is your name, young man?”

  “I’m Jimmy, ma’am. Would you like me to call a cab for you?”

  Maureen thought about that. She did so hate to leave the scene, but parking herself in the lobby might get awkward. “I’ll wait a little longer, Jimmy,” she said. “And then, if she doesn’t come, I would be most obliged if you would call for a cab.”

  Jimmy smiled. “All right.”

  Maureen decided to talk with Jimmy, which might keep him from thinking she was some sort of bag lady. She noticed a textbook lying open on the desk and walked over toward where he sat. “Looks like you’re studying for something, Jimmy.”

  “Yep. Economics exam tomorrow.”

  “Economics. ’Tis a good field. My son Daniel decided to go to the police academy. He’s with the mounted patrol.”

  Jimmy nodded. “That sounds —” He paused and glanced past her toward the door. “Why, hello there, Mrs. Kingsford.”

  “Hello, Jimmy,” said a woman who had apparently just entered the lobby.

  Mrs. Kingsford, Maureen thought with a thrill of excitement. It had to be Rose’s mother, Daniel’s future mother-in-law! The luck of the Irish was with Maureen tonight for sure. You could tell a lot about how a girl would turn out by looking at her mother, in Maureen’s opinion, and here was a chance to find out about Rose�
�s mother early on, without revealing that she was Daniel’s mother. Putting on her best smile, Maureen turned.

  The woman named Mrs. Kingsford stared at Maureen, and Maureen stared back. The poor demented bag lady from the tearoom!

  A look of horror contorted the woman’s face. “You!” she screamed.

  5

  DANIEL’S HEART galloped faster as Rose nestled her lithe body seductively close and opened her mouth beneath his. He’d never received such a delicious invitation in his life, and he was more than ready to accept it.

  Holding Rose was like holding an arc of electricity. She galvanized every inch of him until he fairly hummed with the need to touch, to stroke, to possess her in the most intimate way possible. He didn’t remember pulling her knit top from the waistband of her jeans, yet he must have, for soon his hands were gliding over warm, silken skin.

  She wore nothing beneath the top, and the sweet weight of her breast filled his hand as if he’d been born to caress her this way. She trembled and gasped against his mouth, and fierce, almost frightening needs surged through him. He wondered if they’d make it into her bedroom or be forced by their driving passion to satisfy themselves on the floor of her office.

  She kissed him as if she couldn’t get enough, while her busy hands pulled his shirt out and lightly raked his back with her nails. As his breathing grew labored, his senses filled with her floral cologne and the intoxicating scent of thoroughly aroused woman.

  He also smelled something burning.

  He tried not to acknowledge it. Her lips tasted like heaven and he eagerly anticipated tasting the rest of her willing body. He didn’t want something to be burning.

  But it sure as hell was. Cursing the training that refused to let him ignore even the slightest hint of danger, he lifted his mouth from hers. “I think —” He stopped to clear the huskiness of desire from his throat. “There could be a problem in the kitchen.”